Part 3The Truth in Five Fingers

Obediently, I folded down my third finger.

Misty started to speak again, but Ryan covered her mouth. "She's had too much to drink. I'm taking her home."

The others eyed my expression and offered weak, placating smiles.

But Misty wouldn't have it. She pried his hand away and yelled, "Nobody's leaving! I'm not done yet!" She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. "We're all here for Lena today! Haven't you noticed she hasn't moved an inch? I'd like to see who dares to be rude enough to leave!"

Ryan turned to me, his brow furrowed, his tone laced with blame. "Haven't you had enough fun yet? Lena, how long do you expect everyone to coddle you?"

I clutched my handbag tighter and lifted my head, truly looking at him for the first time all night. "It's not enough."

Misty triumphantly pinched Ryan's behind. "See? Now sit down!"

Ryan playfully tapped her nose, but his voice softened. "If she's in a bad mood, just let her be. You're too soft-hearted, always getting involved."

Misty pouted. "Women are sensitive creatures, you know."

The others looked around awkwardly, saying nothing.

Misty deliberately lowered her voice and dropped her next bomb. "Okay, next one! I've worn a horror mask while driving on the freeway!"

Ryan's face changed instantly. He instinctively shifted to shield Misty, his eyes darting toward me warily. "She was just playing around that time! It was an accident that she scared Grace."

"And Grace was fine afterward, wasn't she? Don't you dare make a big deal out of it again!"

Grace… was fine?

The memory clawed its way to the surface.

Our family was on a road trip with some of Ryan's friends. In the back seat, Grace was quietly drawing with her crayons. She never cried, never fussed. It was as if she understood my fragile state and never wanted to cause me trouble. Even when she had a fever and threw up, the first words out of her mouth were "I'm sorry."

My Grace was a shy, gentle soul, kind to her very core.

I smiled and asked her what she was drawing. She whispered that it was a secret, shyly turning her face to the window.

Suddenly, all the color drained from her face. She let out the most bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard.

I whipped my head around. In the passenger seat of the car driving parallel to us, a monstrous, grotesque face was pressed against the window, grinning at us.

Ryan jerked the steering wheel. The car spun out of control, crashing into the guardrail.

The world turned upside down.

My head was bleeding, but I fought through the pain, stretching my hand desperately toward the back seat.

My Grace, my tiny daughter, was crushed by the mangled seats, contorted into a small ball, looking so much like the embryo she once was in my womb.

Her coloring book had fallen into a pool of her blood. On the page, drawn with clumsy, earnest crayon strokes, was the smiling face of a woman.

Next to it, she had scrawled, "Mommy."

She was only three years old. And she already knew how to draw her mommy.

I smiled, but tears streamed down my face, a sound like a broken accordion wheezing from my throat. The drawing was eventually soaked through with blood and fell apart.

And from that day on, my Grace never spoke again.

She would hide in her closet, and the slightest sound would make her tremble violently. The doctor who had saved me from the brink so many times just looked at me with deep sorrow and finally said, "As long as she's alive, that's what matters."

I never heard my daughter call me "Mommy" again.

It was my punishment. A punishment for my stupidity, for never understanding what I had done so wrong that my own daughter couldn't bear to be near me.

My fingernails dug into my palm, and blood trickled through my fingers.

Misty's laughter was a sharp, grating sound. She was snuggled into Ryan's arms, poking his chest with her finger. "Come on, Ry-Ry, so I gave you all a little scare. Nobody got hurt in the end, right?"

"Besides," she added, "to make it up to her, I even took Grace to a haunted house to help her get over her fears!"